


Home Away From Home

by PippaLovesTunaBrick (SevralShips)



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Communication, Embedded Images, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Back Together, Homesickness, Insomnia, Juno Steel Needs a Hug, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other, POV First Person, Peter Nureyev Needs a Hug, Post-Episode: s03e01-02 Juno Steel and the Man in Glass, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, They Hug, the author wrote a whole fic based on the idea that Juno is used to light pollution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28814343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevralShips/pseuds/PippaLovesTunaBrick
Summary: Following their conversation at the end of Man In Glass part 2, Juno stays over in Nureyev's room but can't seem to get to sleep. His brain won't just shut up and leave him alone, things are still so uncertain between him and the thief asleep beside him... and the Carte Blanche is nothing like sleeping in neon-drenched, noisy Hyperion City.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 8
Kudos: 84





	Home Away From Home

**Author's Note:**

> It randomly occurred to me that Juno is probably used to a ton of light pollution having lived in Hyperion City his whole life and then my brain ran away with a Jupeter flight of fancy. Then I sat down to write it and angst hurt/comfort happened? Aaaaand then I obsessed for a couple hours over designing a neon sign like the one in the story.
> 
> Ok, that is all, enjoy!

It wasn't that I wasn't _tired._ I was goddamn exhausted, way down deep in my bones tired. And I was happy. 

I should be happy.

No, I _was_ happy. Or at least I had been a few hours ago, when Nureyev had still been awake. When I’d finally run out of words and had sat there wiping my eyes, when he’d given me that funny look and said _finally_ after minutes of silent contemplation, “You’ve changed a great deal, Juno,” and to tell the truth, part of me had wanted to lash out, had assumed it was a criticism, but he had worn that almost-smile that tied my tongue in a knot. And besides that, he had been right. I had changed. And then he had smiled properly and said, “It suits you.”

And I was happy, happier than I’d been in I don’t even know how many years. It hadn’t been a _happy_ discussion, technically. When Nureyev had explained in stops and starts how he had felt about my disappearing act back on Mars, it made me wish a little bit that I could jump into the nearest black hole. And when I had explained to him everything that had happened in Hyperion City since he’d left, it had been with shame and reluctance and a total cluelessness as to how to receive his sympathy.

But as we’d talked, the distance between us on the bed had shrank smaller and smaller. Eventually one of us had laid down, and the other had followed suit. As we talked through the difficult parts, our fingertips had brushed, and then our fingers had tangled. And then an arm had wrapped around a waist, and fingers had stroked hair and eventually, our words and tears had dwindled. I had watched as Nureyev’s lids grew too heavy for him to keep hold of my gaze. It made my heart feel so unwieldy and full to see the last of his armor fall away as he lost his grip on consciousness, his lips parting as his breath grew slow and deep.

Carefully, I had removed his glasses and folded them on the nightstand, and turned off the lamp, plunging us into darkness. I was about to settle back down into the pillow when I… hesitated. Nureyev's right arm was slung over my hip, his left hand still loosely folded into my right, but he was obviously not up for any more heavy conversation tonight. Would it be presumptuous to stay? Would he be annoyed to find me there in the morning? Forgiveness and second chances hung so tenuously between us, it would be just like me to overstep and clumsily shatter them. 

I shifted barely an inch away when Nureyev’s hold on me tightened, “Stay th’night, Juno.” he murmured, and there was nothing I could do but melt into his embrace and pull a blanket over us. I had curled around him, tucking my face into his soft hair and filling my lungs up with that intoxicating scent of his, and I had been _happy_.

But the hours had crawled by, and still I was wide awake. I rolled over for the dozenth or so time, and I was facing Nureyev again. If it wasn’t so goddamn dark, I could probably be perfectly content to sit here and just look at him. Back in that hotel in Hyperion City, I had watched him sleep for a long time by the neon haze that spilled in from the window. The only light on the ship was from the tiny strip of silvery emergency lighting that ran along one edge of the ceiling, and that gave off barely enough light for me to make out Nureyev’s edges. I stared at those edges for a while, the contradictory sharpness and softness of him, and tried to soothe myself by mimicking his relaxed breathing.

After several minutes, that proved more frustrating than soothing. It just reminded me how I’d tried to sleep back in that hotel, too, and been unable to. That wasn’t _why_ I’d left, it didn’t even enter into it, really, but it did serve to make me more anxious in the here and now. It was dark, I was tired. It was quiet, the only sound the low whir of the _Carte Blanche_ like the purr of a big, sleepy metal cat. The bed was way better than my old bed on Mars, wide and soft, and… and Peter Nureyev was _right there_ . Warm and brilliant and maybe probably possibly willing to try and forgive me. He’d said he was in love with me once, and that might not still be true, but he cared enough to talk for all those hours, enough to ask for my presence here in his bed. All of that… it was more than enough to make me comfortable, so much more than I was used to. I _should_ be sleeping like a baby.

So why couldn’t I?

I might have a better chance of actually falling asleep if I was in my own bed. I’d been shoving that thought aside, but finally it managed to sneak its way in. And… well, the temptation was real. Sure, I hadn’t actually slept well in my room the previous night, but that was the previous night. Maybe… 

Well, I could spin it any bullshit way I wanted. It wasn’t pragmatism telling me to get out of there, it was pure instinct, nothing else to it. It was that old wound gnawing at me as always, that shadowy suspicion that I didn’t really belong here with these nice, comfortable things. That I didn’t belong on the _Carte Blanche_ at all, really, and definitely not with Nureyev. Who was I kidding, I didn’t _deserve_ another chance, I hadn’t deserved the very first chance he gave me, maybe that’s why again and again I had taken his goodwill and thrown it in his stupid, beautiful face.

I didn’t deserve to be _here_ , I didn’t _deserve_ to be here, so I should just _leave_ before Nureyev had the chance to wise up and confirm my fears for me. 

Well, that’s what the old Juno Steel would have done. But it was true, what Nureyev had said after my rambling tear-soaked apology. I had changed. And that didn’t mean the bitter, doubting voice in my head — the one that sounded like Sarah Steel, and THEIA, and Ramses O’Flaherty all rolled into one — wasn’t still alive and well, urging me to slink back to my own bed as loudly as ever. 

But I couldn’t listen to it _._

I _wouldn't_.

Peter Nureyev had asked me to _stay_ . I had only just apologized and maybe it would turn out I really didn’t deserve this chance, and that I wouldn’t earn Nureyev’s forgiveness, but I wouldn’t let him wake up alone again. If it meant forgoing sleep all night, well, what the hell. I’d had worse. I’d paid way more than a night’s sleep for way, _way_ less than a chance with Peter Nureyev.

So I stayed, rolling over yet again so my back was to Nureyev this time. I thought about the heist, about the Gilded Globe of Reaches Far. I thought about the insipid haplessness of Nova Zolatovna, too spoiled to even think for herself. I thought about dancing with Nureyev, how effortlessly my feet had remembered steps I’d learned from Benzaiten a lifetime ago, how gracefully we had moved as one. That. That _feeling_ . The one that flowed through me and into him, and from him into me, in the moments when we were really on the same page, when we didn’t get in the way of ourselves or each other, that weird compatible _thing_ that made us such a good team, able to move together with the inexplicable magic of ancient Earth clockwork… that was what I was fighting for. What I had to cling to. That was why I had to stay put, even if I was itching to stretch my legs and get lost on the way back to Nureyev's cabin.

I rolled over again and this time failed to stifle my frustrated groan. I winced as Nureyev stirred, “Juno?” he mumbled, propping himself up slightly on one arm as he reached for me with the other, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” I choked out, trying to sound convincing, “Just, just peachy.” I winced again. _Peachy?_ When in my whole entire life had I ever said that word and meant it? What the hell kind of a thief was I going to make if I couldn’t even convince a half-asleep man that I was okay?

Nureyev was anything but convinced, his voice much more lucid as he asked, “What's the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” I gave his shoulder a rub that was meant to set his mind at ease, “Just go back to sleep.”

Nureyev laid back down, settling into his pillow. He was holding his breath. I didn’t see it, but I knew. Could hear or maybe just sense the way his hands curled tight in the blanket, the way his body was ready to pounce. I sighed, “Nureyev—” 

“Do not lie to me, Juno,” Nureyev said, his words clipped, “It is rather graceless, in light of all those pretty declarations you made just this evening.”

He might as well have punched me in the gut, for the way his shrewd words knocked the wind out of me, “Don’t do that.” I said, and it came out as a plea, my voice shrunk down to something measly and small.

“Believe me, Juno,” he said, his voice not quite so harsh, “I don’t _want_ to.” he sighed and propped his head up on one hand, “Now, just tell me what is wrong, won’t you?”

“Nothing’s wrong, okay?” I knew my voice was unconvincing, too high and shaky, “I just can’t sleep.”

Nureyev hummed thoughtfully and his hand found mine in the sheets, the smooth pad of his thumb stroking along my knuckles, “That sounds to me like something wrong.”

I rolled my eyes and choked out a scoff, “I've been around the block, Nureyev, I can handle a little insomnia.”

“Is it insomnia, dear Juno?” Nureyev asked patiently, and something about that patience made me want a little bit to punch him.

“Don’t patronize me,” I grumbled, “I can’t sleep. That’s insomnia.”

“I was not trying to patronize you, I meant only…” his hand stilled in mine, and after a beat, he asked, “Do you suppose it’s me?”

“What?” I sputtered. No way, he’d just been sleeping peacefully and quietly, of course it hadn’t been him keeping me up.

“Would you perhaps sleep more easily alone?” he asked, his tone even and unreadable, his words neither too fast nor too slow. He was _way_ better at lying than me, but I could tell he was nervous, or worried.

“Nur—” 

“It's a legitimate question, Juno.” he said, with that airy tone of ambivalence now, the one he was so damn good at. An act, one I’d seen him pull enough times to recognize it, no matter how good at it he was, “It is quite an adjustment, after all, learning to share a bed.”

I bristled, “Look, I've got plenty of practice sharing a bed, but thanks.”

“How enchanting,” Nureyev said, and I could hear the curl of his lip — did it bother him to think of all the beds I’d shared? — “But I was not actually insinuating anything about your sexual prowess, Juno, I know better than—”

“It's not you!” I blurted out, unable to take a second more of his _acting_ . The nonchalance, the flirtation, maybe even the jealousy… we’d been so _real_ with each other since I’d showed up at his door after the heist, and if being honest with him was the only way I could get him back to being honest with me… well, I’d just have to do what I did best and suck it up.

“Really?” Nureyev’s voice dripped with skepticism.

“I, I don't know,” I admitted, adding weakly and damn pathetically, “I just don't want you to go.”

“Oh,” Nureyev was good at hiding his feelings, but he wasn’t good enough to hide the way his hand tightened automatically around mine at hearing that, “Well… seeing as this is my bed, I appreciate that courtesy.” He was still worried, then, if he was being that sarcastic. I knew better than anyone, if you knew how to use it, sarcasm was a mask and a shield and a weapon in one convenient package.

“I want to stay,” I said softly, lacing my fingers between his, “I swear I do.”

His breath hitched in the dark and I could _feel_ the change in the air when he was just _Nureyev_ again, no act, no posturing, just us. He softened towards me and let out a breath that trembled slightly against my cheeks, and I realized our noses were nearly touching, “I… good. That’s good. I… want you to stay, too.”

Relief gushed through me. A little exhale, between a gasp and a chuckle escaped my mouth and I wet my lips, “I… I think I'm going to kiss you now.”

I could hear Nureyev’s mouth part in a smile, “By all means.” he said.

And then my lips were on his. _Finally_ . Those silken lips that had always hovered around the back of my thoughts, stolen the spotlight in all my fantasies. They parted against mine and he tasted as mind-alteringly sweet as I remembered, and at the same time so much richer than any worn out old memory. He moaned softly onto my tongue and my palms cradled the sharp angle of his jaw, tilting him open so that I could kiss him deeper, _deeper_.

My hands were impatient to feel all of him again, to map him out and make sure every perfect piece of him was still exactly where I left it. His hands fluttered around my face, my neck, my shoulders. Reticent, uncharacteristically cautious. It was okay, though, I’d show him it was alright, better than alright, everything was _wonderful._ My right hand flattened against the delicate small of his back, pressing him closer to me, while my left found his hand and guided it to circle my own waist. He made a delicious whine against my lips and I poured all my frustration into the kiss, fingers digging in to pull him closer.

But he turned his head, breaking away from the kiss, panting, “Juno,” he gasped out, “Oh, Juno.”

He still sounded worried, and I wanted to kiss that worry until it just evaporated. To that end, I kissed along his jaw. He sighed and I could feel the points of his nails poke into my back through the fabric of my shirt.

“Juno,” he gasped out, interrupted each time my mouth brushed an especially sensitive spot, “Correct me if, if I am mistaken, but… this does not seem to be a kiss goodnight.”

“Hmm,” I purred against the jumping pulse in his throat, “Not what I had in mind, no…” to illustrate my meaning, my hand slid around his hip, down— only to be caught by Nureyev’s hand and pulled back up. I froze, pulling my face away from his neck to look at him, as if I could possibly discern the nuance of his expression without any light, “Nureyev, are—?”

“I’m quite well, Juno, only I’m about to be much too sensible for my own liking,” his voice was strangled slightly, his grip on my hand still tight, “Juno, please believe me when I tell you that I want with _every fiber of my being_ to make love to you, to ravish you, to worship every inscrutable inch of you,” I shuddered at his words, and felt the heat of his breath when he chuckled, “Try though I did to cast it off, the thought has tormented me for a year and it thrills me to my core to have you in my bed again at last…” he trailed off, sucking in a breath through his nose. I could hear the _but_ without him even saying it.

“ _But?_ ” I prompted.

“...But… we should not.” Nureyev gritted out, as if each word pained him. 

They pained _me_ . I knew — listen, _I knew_ — that he was right. But it stung as bitterly as rejection no matter how you sliced it, and I withdrew from him as if I’d been burned, retreating to my side of the bed, “Okay.” I managed, “Whatever.”

“We… we were reckless with our affections before, and it backfired rather tremendously,” he said, “I… this seems the wisest course to avoid hurting one another, for the time being.”

_If I let you any closer, I know you’ll just hurt me_. Or so that shitty voice in my head translated it, “Message received, Nureyev.” I said brusquely.

Nureyev sighed, “No, Juno, I don't believe it has been.” He sounded distressed, “We… I want only for us to do better, this time. That… it sounded like that was what you wanted?”

The uncertainty in his voice broke through all my bruised ego and bullshit, drowning out the Sarah-THEIA-Ramses. I sighed too, shuffling back towards him and reaching out a tentative hand, “No, I… I do want that. And… I get it. You're… I hate to admit it, but you’re right. If we, tonight, it would probably be a total…” I groaned. I was too tired for this, “I just…” words were hard.

Nureyev’s hand found mine again and he pressed it between both of his, “Tell me what is amiss and I will do whatever I can to mend it, Juno.”

I tried to gather up all the pieces of frustration and distress and insecurity, tried to string them together into something that made any damn sense at all, but I couldn’t. In the end, I just blurted out, “I don't know, okay? I didn't sleep well last night but, but I was nervous about the heist and you, but, but _now_ the heist is over and you're right _here_ and you don't hate me, or least you didn’t until a few minutes ago when I got all gropey on you, and I should be sleeping—”

“I do not hate you, Juno,” Nureyev interrupted fondly, and I could hear in his voice that he was smiling, “And under the right circumstances, ‘getting all gropey’, as you so delicately put it, would be quite the most expedient route to my heart, I assure you.”

I groaned, “Damn it, it’s so _dark_ in here, I can’t even see your stupid, flirty smile!”

Nureyev gave a surprised laugh, “Is that the problem? If the darkness was bothering you, Juno, why did you not turn on a light?”

“You were asleep,” I pointed out, “You need the shuteye as much as I do.”

“So very thoughtful of you, dear, but a light would not prevent that. I am adapted to sleep in a wide range of conditions,” Peter said, the tantalizing promise of that flirtatious note in his voice making my cheeks heat up as he added, “I’m _quite_ flexible, you know.”

“Y-yeah, I remember,” I stammer, embarrassed that this man could somehow insinuate that I needed a nightlight and that he’d like me to fold him in half in the same breath, “But I’m not some scared little kid,” I complained, “I'm not afraid of the dark or something, it's just _weird._ It never used to bother me.” _On Mars_ , I didn’t bother to say out loud. We both knew it without it being said.

Nureyev hummed, the particular hum that I knew meant he was working on solving a problem in that big, clever brain of his. 

And then, all too soon, he was climbing out of the bed, “Hey!” I exclaimed, sitting up with urgency and reaching after the swift thief, my hands closing only around empty air, “Don’t, where are you going?”

“Not _going_ anywhere, my dear,” he assured me, rustling through items on the other side of his messy, crowded room, “I just realized I might have just the perfect thing to help. I knew I was drawn to it for a reason…” his words trailed off, and I just waited, sitting in the bed and listening to him digging through his things. 

“What is it?” I asked, impatient and curious.

“You’ll see, detective,” he said, distractedly, and I left him to it. Probably just some sort of high-tech sleeping pill or something that he had lifted from the powder room of some socialite or other. Minutes stretched by as Nureyev looked, before he finally gave a triumphant, “A-ha! Here we are!” and I heard a familiar but unidentifiable tinkling sound, a little like glass.

“Nureyev, _what—_ ” I began to ask again, only to be struck dumb by an unexpected light source flickering to life beside the bed. I blinked rapidly to adjust my eyes, taking in the sight of Nureyev, crouched to attach the apparent cure to my insomnia to the ship’s power. And there was the item itself, as incongruous and out of place as it was excruciatingly on the nose.

It was a neon sign, though a relatively small one, the kind that would be displayed in a window or over a sidewalk. It was nothing special, made in the acid-green, electric purple, and candy-red that were so common in the streets of Hyperion City. They reflected off the mirrored surface of the wet pavement there and merged into a surreal hazy glow around the iconic skyline’s spires. But it wasn’t only the colors and the familiar buzz that brought Hyperion City to my mind with a pang of yearning, but the text itself. I arched a brow at Nureyev as I read off, “ _‘Home Away From Home Motel’_?”

Nureyev laughed as he propped the sign up against the wall, “My apologies for the lack of subtlety. Would you believe I forgot what it actually said?” he sat back on the edge of the bed, looking at it a bit more proudly than it warranted, “What do you think?”

“It’s… lovely, Nureyev, why do you have that?” I asked. It didn’t have any of the glamour or glitz that I tended to associate with Nureyev’s sticky fingers.

Nureyev shrugged, “I saw it on one of Uranus’ moons and I liked it. You see the green border?” I nodded, “It is a crude facsimile of the dwellings humans used to inhabit on Earth!”

“Really?” I asked, “What’s that thing?” I asked, indicating a little rectangle sticking out of the top.

“A _chimney_ !” Nureyev explained excited, “And the red there is supposed to represent the smoke that would be emitted by the woodfires people used to warm their homes. _Houses_.”

“Huh,” I said, around a yawn, “That’s one well-researched motel sign.”

Nureyev laughed, a nice musical laugh that I preferred to the saccharine ones he used to win over marks as his various charming aliases, “Not quite, I’m afraid,” he said, climbing back under the covers and inviting me with an outstretched arm to put my head on his shoulder, “The visual shorthand of a gabled roof and chimney has outlived its source, we still recognize the symbol to mean ‘home’ or ‘shelter’, even if we’re wholly unaware that there were ever houses with those literal features.”

“Like the save thingy.” I said, settling in against his side, “Rita told me one time,” another yawn interrupted me, “How the little square save thingy is based on, on a real thing people used to use centuries ago.”

“Fascinating,” Nureyev said, sounding genuinely intrigued, “I’ll have to ask her about that.” 

I snuggled my face against his chest, comforted by the sound of his heartbeat and, I had to admit, the steady hum of the neon sign, “You’re so _smart_ ,” I mumbled and Nureyev’s laughter made a rumbling noise under my ear that was just _good_ , “You and Rita. Dunno why you bother...”

“Why we bother what?” Nureyev asked softly, his hand petting my hair. It felt so much better than it had any right to.

“Using all that smartness on me.” 

“Because we care about you, Juno,” Nureyev said gently, “And taking care of you is a very worthy use of our ‘smartness’.”

“Am I homesick?” I asked him, lips loosened by the way my weariness was weighing on me now, dragging me steadily down.

Beneath me, Nureyev’s shoulder shrugged slightly, “I cannot tell you that, Juno. It… would be perfectly understandable if you were. One’s first time off-planet is certainly known to be jarring and I know Hyperion City…” he cleared his throat uncertainly, “Your home was very important to you. It stands to reason that you might miss it.”

I shrugged too and burrowed closer to him, “It’s gone…” I said sadly, simply.

“I…” Nureyev rolled onto his side, but his arms only pulled me in closer. Within the warm private world of the blankets, he confessed very quietly, “I confess I, myself, even now… sometimes long for Brahma.”

“Oh,” I said. I kissed his sternum because I could reach it, “I could tell in… when I… in your memories, I knew you loved it.”

“I hated it, too.” Nureyev pointed out.

I chuckled, “Same with me and Hyperion…”

I drifted and was nearly sunk into the dark relief of sleep, when Nureyev spoke again, in a slim tendril of a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

I startled slightly, “Wha? W-why?” my hand cupped his cheek and I cracked my eyes open, and with the help of the motel sign, I could see the regret carved on his handsome features, “Why’re you sorry, N’reyev?”

“I knew, but… I don’t think I understood until just now…” he pressed his face into my hand, shutting his eyes, “I… my, my _invitation_ for you to come with me,” the word _invitation_ twisted bitterly in his voice, “I made it an ultimatum, and that was unfair to you. I never should have asked you to choose between me and your home.”

“Babe…” my thumb stroked his cheekbone and the baffled expression that flitted across his face clued me in that in my sleepy state I had just called Master Thief Peter ‘Angel of Brahma’ Nureyev himself ‘babe’. I cringed, “Sorry, uh, sorry.”

“No need,” Nureyev kissed my hand and smiled, “I believe… I could see myself growing quite fond of being called that by you. It only surprised me.”

“Yeah, I’m full of surprises.” I mumbled, teasing a bit self-deprecatingly.

“You are,” he kissed my hand again, eyes breathtakingly sweet and dark, “It may be the quality of yours I cherish most,” I made a face, “I am not an easy man to surprise, Juno, but you never cease to do just that.”

“Oh. Well… okay.” I didn’t really know what to say.

Nureyev drew in a deep breath and his voice was serious again, “I am sorry, Juno. It’s rather too late to realize just how badly I behaved, but I truly am sorry. I put you in an impossible position, asking you to give up everything, and when you were in no state to make promises to me.”

“I am now.” I insisted, though the sleepy slur of my words betrayed me.

“You’re half-asleep, Juno.” He corrected, with a crooked smile.

“Well, _you’re_ the one who picked right now to have this epiphany and shower me with apologies, so…”

“My abysmal sense of timing strikes again, it seems.” he kissed my forehead and my heart broke with tenderness, “Go to sleep, Juno.”

I didn’t want to fall asleep. Ironic, considering I’d spent a few hours there wanting nothing more. I wanted to promise him that this time around, I would deserve the trust he had placed in me. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to tell him that even if it _had_ been an ill-timed ultimatum, that he was worth giving up Hyperion City a million times over. But sleep was already pulling me under as if submerging me in warm, murky waters and I managed only to mumble out his name.

“Hush now, dear Juno.” Nureyev murmured into my hair, “There will be time to talk all we want in the morning.” The thought blossomed, full of promise, inside my chest, of having all the time we wanted. When we’d been together, there had always been a rush, something to escape or a deadline to meet. But now there would be time to say all the things that needed to be said, time to smooth away every longing and insecurity with words or kisses or pleasure. Nureyev pulled me close, and I dissolved into the warmth of him, and a future ripe with possibility, and the comforting hum of a Home Away From Home.

**Author's Note:**

> say hi to me on tumblr at pippalovestunabrick.tumblr !  
> I need frens who want to talk about podcasts with me lol


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